What You do to Me
by Animegoil
Summary: Usually, Robin trolls Artemis. Other times, Artemis does the trolling. But sometimes, they're actually honest with each other. A collection of Traught ficlets ranging from humor to angst to romance and everything in between.
1. What you do to me

**I present - a series of Robin/Artemis ficlets. **

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><p><strong><em>What You do to Me<em>**

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><p>"Get some sleep."<p>

With only those parting words, Batman drops him off at the entrance of Mount Justice. Robin gives him an impudent wave, grinning at Batman's sometimes unnecessary paternal side and goes into the cave, hearing the roar of the Batplane fade into the distance. He does need rest though – the sun hasn't even set, but they've just come back from an emergency with the Scarecrow, a drug ring and two bank robberies, and the night before had been a late one as well.

His name and number ring out in the computerized voice as he walks into the kitchen, and Artemis glances up from the fridge.

"S'up, Wonder Boy?"

He shrugs, rubbing his shoulders where he'd slammed against a wall earlier. The smell of food fills the kitchen, as usual, and Robin notes the kitchen timer on the oven. "Same old, same old. How were your midterms?"

Artemis rolls her eyes and straightens up from whatever she was rooting around for in the fridge. "Can we please not talk about them? I still have whiplash. School's never been my thing." She nods at him, noticing his obvious tiredness. "Rough week in Gotham, hm?"

"News sure travels fast to Star City," he quips, just to make her squirm. He hops on the counter, making himself comfortable and watches her shoulders tense. He knows she was the one behind several almost-crimes they'd found already cleaned up throughout the week.

"Yeah, uh, Green Arrow told me," she says with that tone she always gets when trying to come up with excuses. He gets a kick out of it because frankly, she sucks at them. Luckily, Robin's apparently the only one who notices.

"Of course," he says agreeably, and her shoulders relax. She tosses him one of the root beers she snagged and pops the tab open.

Robin nods his thanks and pulls his open as well, the sizzling burn of the carbonation almost as good as the cold refreshing his throat. Man, so astrous. From down the hallway he can hear Superboy and Wally's yells and the unmistakable sound of the air-hockey hologram ricocheting around the field. He's betting M'gann and Kaldur are watching, and it's confirmed when Superboy grunts a victory yell and M'gann's cheer and Kaldur's chuckle echo back. He snags a cookie from the bowl M'gann keeps filled with various of her experiments, which have gotten fairly good at this point. He's looking forward to whatever's in the oven.

They sit in silence enjoying their drinks. Robin likes talking, but usually in conjunction with Kid Flash. He's far too used to Batman to mind silence, and to be honest, he _likes_ thinking. Artemis hoists herself on the counter next to him and they sit there, listening to the sounds of the game down the hallway and sipping their root beer. Artemis rotates her ankle, clockwise for a bit and then switches counterclockwise. Robin glances at the strip of skin visible between the hem of her skinny jeans and her flats, skin that stretches over a delicate ankle bone, skin that's darker than what he's used to in his posh, old-Gotham-families school, and has that brief flash of _what if_?

"…I like this," Artemis says, voice quiet and surprised. "I'm not used to…" she waves her hand in the air, trying to encompass everything – Wally's taunts echoing in the cavern walls, Kaldur's avian biology book on the sofa, the TV on mute static courtesy of Superboy, and the crumbles of M'gann's cookie on Robin's fingertips. And, Robin wants to think, this easy silence between them. Robin wonders what her normal life is like. He can hack all he wants but there are some things that cameras and records can't say. There are some things he can't know unless she _lets_ him know.

"Me neither," Robin admits. "Until I met Kid Lame and Sp—Red Arrow, I wasn't really used to anything this lively or fun. Not that being Robin isn't fun, but, well. You know. _Batman_."

Artemis scoffs, "Joker of the Justice League, I'm sure."

Robin freezes and turns a stern glance towards her. "_Never_ joke about the Joker."

Her shoulders jerk in surprise at his admonition until he snickers. Then she grabs the kitchen rag between them and swats at his face. Robin snickers again and ducks.

"I meant a literal joker. You know –funny," she says, lifting her eyebrow in a vaguely teasing way. "Does Batman even have a sense of humor?"

"Sure he does. Sometimes he makes bird references about me."

That gives her pause and she stares at him as if it's maybe a revelation that Batman _does_ have a sense of humor or— "Man, that is _not_ called humor. Those are bad puns. You know, like every terrible supervillain out there tries to make?"

"That is too a sense a humor," Robin says a tad defensively. After all, she's comparing Batman to a _supervillain_.

"Right. Sure, whatever you gotta do to sleep at night." She hops off the counter and heads towards the entrance to the main cavern where the others are, giving him that little smirk that shows she knows she's won the argument. He needs to figure out a way to wipe it off her face, but then again, it looks pretty good on there.

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><p><strong>These two. So much love for these two. <strong>


	2. Distraught: codeword for

**My take on the infamous "Homefront" moment.  
><strong>

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><p><strong><em>Distraught: codeword for...<br>_**

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><p>They climb out of the water pipes and it's only after several panting breaths and a few exchanged words that Robin gets a good look at her.<p>

Artemis is soaking wet, her lashes thick clumps blinking rapidly, a wisp of hair curling at her forehead with the humidity. Her outfit is already skintight as it is, but now it clings to her, and Robin imagines peeling it off her skin and feeling the slight suction of the water pulling against his fingers. He can feel the heat radiating off her where his knee is pressing into the side of her thigh, contrasting with the cold seeping into him from the metal they're sitting on. Both of them are shivering, her tremors running into him. He finds himself leaning closer to her heat, fighting the urge to run his hands up and down her arms to warm her up, though she's so preoccupied with her rant she probably hasn't noticed she's cold yet.

"—took out our four _superpowered_ friends!"

Robin knows he should be focusing on her words—right now is not the time to be thinking about how her lips are still wet, slightly swollen on the side where the air breather had been torn from her mouth in the earlier skirmish, and the way he's leaning closer and closer so that —no, right now he has to think about _Wally_ and Kaldur and the others, and he's going to beat himself up later for getting distracted for even that infinitesimal second, shit—

"Robin?" her eyes are wide and Robin pulls back immediately and assigns himself three more hours of training this week as punishment for his distraction.

"You seem distraught," he says instead, as if that explains his silent stare. Which, well, distraught doesn't even _begin_ to describe how bewilderingly attractive she looks, with her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed from being— _distraught_.

New codeword for _distressingly hot_.

Her eyebrow does that twitch. He loves that twitch. It's her _you're being fucking dense and I can't believe you're making me spell it out to you_ twitch. It's usually reserved for Wally, but he knows he's been getting on her C-A-S-E a lot lately. "Of course I'm distraught!"

Robin hardens, eyes narrowing and lips pursing. She goes on with her distraught rant and he reminds himself that she needs him to be traught right now, because she is painfully new at this, despite her practical and theoretical training. Robin's the one with the most experience, and he needs to get her through this so they can save the others. He clenches his teeth and looks at her.

"Well get traught, or get _dead_."

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><p><strong>Seriously, I'm just gonna start using the word 'distraught' when I'm trying to say someone's really, really hot. Like, distressingly hot.<br>**


	3. Lick it Up

**Wally lets it slip to Artemis that Robin has a thing for tongues...  
><strong>

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><p><strong><em>Lick it Up<br>_**

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><p>"Ah, shit," Artemis sighs from behind Robin.<p>

Robin twists in his seat and cranes his neck around to see what she's talking about. He snickers as Artemis lifts her mug of hot cocoa in the air and purses her lips at the streaks of chocolate running down her fingers and the droplets on the floor. "Good job."

"Don't wanna hear smack from the guy who spilled all the popcorn yesterday," Artemis says, still contemplating her dripping hand.

"Dude, _Wally's fault._" He crosses his arms and leans against the kitchen table, watching her. The chocolate is dark and slipping through the fine hairs on her forearm, curving down to stain the underside of her arm. "Might wanna get a rag before it reaches your elbow or drips more on the carpet, you know."

Artemis glances at him and for a moment, he swears it's almost devious. He raises an eyebrow but her attention is back on her hand and she shrugs, setting the mug on the counter. "Better idea."

Robin is about to ask, when her tongue slips out between her lips and she begins _licking herself clean_.

Robin's first thought is '_woa'. _Which ties directly into '_that's hot'_.

He stares at the way Artemis raises her elbow to her mouth and laps up the droplets racing there. Her eyes are half-lidded, and she tilts her head to reach better, pink tongue slipping past ridiculously full lips that he has to admit he's spent one too many meals staring at. She's straining, twisting and turning her arm so that she can reach as close to her elbow as possible, but the movements look graceful and elegant with the way her neck is stretched out and her arm is bent delicately.

Robin realizes he's staring. He lowers his head quickly, pretending to search through his utility belt. He's never been more thankful for his mask because it allows him to raise just his eyes and stare at her without her noticing. She's slowly dragging her tongue up along her forearm, and her fingers hang daintily in the air. She turns her wrist, palm facing upwards, as she laps repeatedly at the tender flesh of the inside of her wrist the way a cat might groom itself: thoroughly and deliberately.

Robin feels hot; the air around him is suddenly too warm and stifling and he really needs to loosen his cape. Then Artemis places her lips on her palm and begins _suckling_, extracting any trace of chocolate from her skin, her eyes fully closed now. She appears to be enjoying herself nearly as much as Robin wishes he could cover his eyes or move or just let out the moan that's building up in his throat as heat rises low in his abdomen. Because she's opening her eyes now, just a fraction, enough so that he can see a hint of opal brown underneath her thick lashes, and those eyes lock in on him. She sees him. His façade is broken, he can't pretend to be looking away, and his fingers fall from his utility belt to fist his tights.

It's— it's the hottest thing he's seen in his fourteen years of life, including accidentally walking into the girls' locker-room a few weeks ago.

Artemis holds his gaze, leaving him breathless and aching as she proceeds to slip her tongue between each of her fingers, from knuckle to tip, sucking lightly at her fingerpads, and she's _moaning_. He wants to pretend it's an appreciative moan, that the chocolate is _just that good_, but it's too obscene— an octave too low, drawn out too long, and Robin slouches forward, unconsciously parting his legs to make himself more comfortable, though the throbbing is nearly painful. His heart is racing, pounding in his ears, thrumming in his chest, and the twitch at the corner of Artemis's lips as she drags her pinkie between her teeth makes him shudder because _she knows_.

"There," she purrs. "All clean now," she says, inspecting her fingers like Robin isn't flushed and breathing a bit too hard given he's been sitting still for the past five minutes. God, he's stiff all over, tense and shivery and lightheaded, and shit, he needs some alone time _now_. Is that normal?

Artemis turns to Robin and drags her eyes along him, letting her gaze linger just a bit too long, and her satisfaction is just as obvious as his state. Robin wishes he could turn away or become invisible like M'gann, but it's too late to pretend and they both know it.

"Was that too much?" she asks innocently, and when he clenches his hands hard enough to hurt because the alternative is letting out a long, guttural groan she just laughs and pats him on the shoulder as she walks out.

"I'll make sure not to spill my drinks around you anymore," she says in parting.

Robin makes a note to ask Wally to bump into her next time she's drinking hot chocolate.

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><p><strong>I'm so sorry for the complete and utter lack of any character development here. I just really wanted Artemis messing with Robin like that. If you -do- want lots and lots of character development, I posted another fic a few days ago - Third Time's the Charm.<br>**


	4. Turn it Around

**Set three years in the future. **

**Enjoy!  
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><p><strong><em>Turn it around<br>_**

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><p>Wally sends her a text and Artemis swears she's going to disembowel him when he gets to Mount Justice. M'gann follows up a few minutes later with a consolation smiley and says it wasn't that bad. All Artemis knows is that she's glad she lives in Gotham, because at least there she won't be subjected to a newscast of herself tripping and doing a faceplant against Green Arrow's chest only to lose her balance and fall off the ledge down into a batch of wet cement from which Ollie has to pull her out while the villain gets away with the Mayor's keys to the city. As if that's not embarrassing enough, Artemis had to find the nearest fire hydrant and spray the cement off her clothes and hair before it dries, in front of a crowd of people either snickering or looking at her like she should pick a new job, because sidekicking isn't really her thing.<p>

Water drips from her hair as she steps out of the transporter and shivers at Mount Justice's drafty air. She always finds herself missing Star City's warmer weather when she's back in Gotham or Happy Harbor's winter clutches. If it weren't for her mother and Dick, she would probably seriously consider moving to Star City permanently. It would certainly make it easier to fulfill her duties as Green Arrow's sidekick.

Force of habit makes her hang her uniform to dry in the locker room, even though the reddened, tender swell on her hip tempts her to just dump the sopping mess on the floor and head upstairs to nap. Her ankle twinges when she bends it back and forth and she sighs, resigned to the aches and pains of the non-meta hero life. Though she supposes Wally's permanent hunger pangs are a pretty sucky price to pay for super speed and healing.

Her quiver and bow receive much more attentive care than her uniform as she checks for remnants of cement by running her fingernail through each crevasse of the beautiful, hand-made Navajo relic Roy gave her for her birthday a month ago. She's glad he's off in Vietnam (for reasons she's still preferring to turn a blind eye to, because she's lost track of how many times she's warned him about her sister) because that means she doesn't have to expect a phone call from him dryly asking her if she's grown any from that lanky, snippy, baby sidekick she was three years ago. No thanks. Artemis can do without the annoying older brother routine he seems so fond of.

Satisfied that her bow and arrow fletches are truly clean, she hangs her bow and quiver, stuffs her feet into a pair of soft moccasins and heads out of the lockers to the living areas. Her bones ache from the fall, though falling on wet cement is marginally better than falling on dry cement, so she supposes she should be thankful. She looks around the empty living room and remembers that M'gann and Conner went out watch that ridiculous aliens and cowboys movie that came out. Artemis scoffs and pulls up her hoodie around her face, sticking her hands in the pockets and shuffling through the balance of Conner's messiness and M'gann's attempts to clean up after him. He's come a long way from the stiff clone boy of three years ago, acquiring various personality quirks such as general teenage sloppiness and a penchant for heavy metal bands. Lately he's even got Kaldur into Metallica, which Artemis does applaud.

Another text. Artemis checks and it's Wally again, saying that there's a meme running around already with her face planted squarely against Ollie's chest saying 'arrowcest: ur doing it rite'. Artemis groans and hits her cellphone against her forehead. Shitty, shitty day.

A burst of laughter distracts her from her self-berating litany of threats to Wally's wellbeing and lamentations about how sucky her week has been so far. She looks up at the open door at the end of the hallway, torn between being glad that _someone_ is having a good day and resentment at it, because yes, Artemis is sometimes kind of bitchy like that where she ends up being irritated that other people are so ridiculously cheerful when she just wants to roll herself into a blanket and suffocate. She decides that a nap on Dick's bed sounds more comfortable, so she walks past her door. She knocks on his doorframe and he looks up from his computer, face bathed in blue.

"Hey, 'Mis," Dick says, his grin suspiciously wide for a Wednesday afternoon. Artemis eyes it with caution born from personal experience with Dick's more… mischievous side.

"Practice ended early?" she asks instead, leaning against the doorway on the shoulder that doesn't ache like it got hit by a bag of bricks. Artemis is on the Mathletes team as well, but she prefers being an alternate, so she doesn't bother going regularly like Dick.

"Mmm? Yeah," he says, gaze flickering between Artemis and whatever's on his screen. Artemis hates it when he ignores her for League of Legends or whatever online RPG he's currently into. There's only so many times Dick can claim 'but my teammates need me!' as an excuse.

"Dick," she says sternly, and Dick's head whips back. He blinks innocently at her, a trick that has lost much of its effect now that he's finally lost his baby fat and his shoulders have widened. Though the domino always has the odd effect of making him seem younger.

"Sorry," he says, face perfectly neutral like the Swiss. Artemis doesn't buy it, and sure enough, it only takes a second before he cracks and his lips quirk. "It's just… has anyone ever told you that you make cement seem like a good look?"

Artemis wants Ivy's plants to spring from the earth and swallow her alive. She buries her head in her hands. She can still smell gravel and limestone on her fingers. "Fuck my _life_. Are you serious? What were you even doing watch Star City news?"

"Oh, I didn't find it there. It's on Youtube, recommended videos."

Artemis decides she can spare one hand from shielding her face from utter embarrassment to flick him off. Dick laughs like the huge asshole he is.

"Man, your face when you were falling." He slaps his knee as he laughs. "Pure gold. It has 200,000 views already. Seven of those are mine."

"Seriously, can this day get any worse?" Of course, she chooses that exact moment to step backward, bumping her bruised hip against the doorframe. Bone-deep pain flares up, burning like a low flame, and she bites her lip, doubling over as she rides the pain out and mutters every obscenity she knows.

"Oh… 'Mis." Dick's voice is suddenly soft, and Artemis looks up to find him frowning, head tilted. He beckons her closer and she doesn't hesitate before stepping up to him. Dick pulls down the hem of her sweats and tsks at the red, swollen skin.

"That's going to bruise pretty spectacularly by tomorrow."

"Oh really? I wasn't aware."

He knows her temper well enough to ignore it. "You get hurt anywhere else?" he asks, pulling her carefully by the waist to settle her on his lap. She only winces slightly as he hip presses briefly against him. She fits on his lap now. Just barely – he's still slim, with the perfect acrobat's build, but at least they're the same height now, which makes positioning—for all sorts of things— easier. His fingers settle on the back of her neck and rub small circles there as his other hand skims along her arms and chest, checking for other injuries. Artemis hums softly, leaning against him. His hair is oily—he probably didn't get a chance to shower after gym class. The musky smell mixes with the dense scent of Kevlar and latex, but she's too used to it to mind.

"Just a few bruises. Maybe twisted ankle. No big."

He mutters something under his breath that sounds like _no big deal my ass,_ but he doesn't comment because in their line of work, it's true. She presses the line of her body against him, even though in a hoodie and sweatpants it looks a lot less sensual that what she envisioned in her head. Despite that, Dick still hums appreciatively and nuzzles her neck. "How about we turn your day around with a movie and popcorn?"

"And other things?" she breathes, flicking the tip of her tongue against the shell of his ear.

Dick shivers a little, voice pitched deeper as he answer, "And other things."

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><p><strong>Thanks for all the great comments - you guys give awesome feedback.<strong>


	5. Lest You Slip

**Mmmm unresolved sexual tension.  
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**Enjoy!  
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><p><strong><em>Lest You Slip<em>****_  
><em>**

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><p>It starts with being slammed against the floor. The air leaves Robin's chest in a like an explosion and his vision blacks out for a moment with the impact. It fades back in to the sight of full lips, widening and in the center of it all, coal dark eyes that burn him in a way that even Batman's glare doesn't—not that it ever has, so maybe that's not a good comparison.<p>

It's in that moment, when her face is lit by the white glow of the training floor, washing out her skin into porcelain shades that blend all contours into meaningless white—save her eyes, which remain as black as ever, drilling into him with the heat of competition. His pulse and breathing war for attention in his ears. The floor is cold beneath his back, but his shoulders hurt from her grip and his thighs simmer where hers press against his, trapping him, warming him. In that moment, he feels a rush, a balloon expanding in him filled with _something_; a feeling that's crystal clear for one infinitesimal second.

It's gone before he can process it, a surge of electricity across neurons that he knows he will never be able to replicate.

He can get out of the hold easily—she's good, but he's not trained by Batman for naught. But she misunderstands his split-second hesitancy as a signal to end the sparring match and begins to move off him, the heat of her legs sliding away from him as she leans back, her chest heaving as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The cold creeps in like a menace to replace her warmth, raising goosebumps under his suit.

"No," he manages to say before she leaves. He's still trying to recapture that fleeting feeling, that vision that had seized him. "Again."

She looks at him for a moment before she raises one eyebrow. "Not enough for you, bird boy?"

He laughs shortly, sitting up and taking the hand offered to him to stand up. "Not a chance. This is kid's play compared to what Batman puts me through."

"Oh good." She smirks, slipping back into a fighting stance as they put distance between each other, preparing for another round. "I was beginning to get bored."

He responds with a sharp grin, making sure his canines show.

o0o

Robin feels like he's looking at Artemis for the first time. Which is not quite right because he remembers the sharp spike of interest when Green Arrow had walked into Mount Justice with his 'niece' in tow. But, with the immediate confrontation between her and Roy and Wally, and then the mission, he had quickly relegated her to a position of comrade. Nothing more, nothing less, or so he thought.

Until that day, when all it took was that one look to reset the Rubik's cube from its ordered, set conformation back to chaos. Looking back, he can see that he had never truly thought of her as _just_ a teammate. It's embarrassing to become aware of all the furtive looks, all the times he's tracked her movements with his eyes under the pretense of categorizing her moves and abilities as a good future team leader should.

o0o

It's like trying to explain what a supernova is. 'Exploding star' just doesn't quite do it justice. The surge of emotions that accosts him out of nowhere is strong and relentless. He's suddenly aware of every move Artemis makes—the way her quads swell and recede with each of her steps, circling around him. The way her shoulders flex, steely muscle made limber by the bowstring. Her waist is small and tight— everything about her is tight and compact. She's not Megan's soft curves or Wonder Woman's busty vixen figure. She's somewhere in between, something lean and athletic, with an acrobatic grace. Robin would be lying if he said that the images that pop into his mind sometimes don't fluster him.

But, regardless of how his eyes track her every spare moment they have – he will not let anything interfere with a mission, and he's learned how to banish thoughts like those to a specific corner of his mind during missions and work.

o0o

They're in the Amazon. There's noises that Robin has never heard before—groans and creaks that if his computer hadn't already identified as birds and frogs, Robin would have guessed were humans, or even aliens. He sits on a tree root, nestled in its folds, and rubs the tip of his cape until the caked dirt crumbles off.

"This stake-out is dragging on _much_ too long." Artemis's voice is a welcome, familiar noise, and Robin turns just in time to see her arch her back, stomach stretching out so her tear-drop of a bellybutton becomes a shallow puddle. It doesn't help that it has been drizzling lightly, and a drop of water from the fronds above her falls and slides down her molded abs. Robin realizes he's staring at the shape of her arms, spread out behind her as she stretches, and the way one leg is slightly bent while the other is tensed and pointed like a dancer's, feeding into her stretch. The sound that bursts out of her throat should have been innocent and meaningless if it weren't for the way her waist turns one way and then the other, and if Robin were a sculptor, he'd want to make a moving statue to capture the simple beauty of her movements.

"Artemis." He speaks without meaning to, voice dipping down to an octave he's not used to. He clears his throat uncomfortably and she turns to look at him, uncurling herself from the ground and standing. Now she's touching the tips of her toes, though she does so with her palms flat on the top of her boots.

"Yes, Boy Wonder?"

He closes his mouth. They're on a mission.

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><p><strong>Yeah, that's the end. I did say 'unresolved'.<br>**


	6. Old Enough to Know but too Young to Care

**This chapter is rated M. Even though it's basically all foreplay ... or something. Season 2 - they're 17 and 18 respectively.  
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**Enjoy!  
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><p><em><strong>Old Enough To Know, But Too Young To Care<strong>_

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><p>"I want to suck you off."<p>

The words surprise her almost as much as they seem to surprise Dick. She feigns nonchalance, tilting her head to watch as he swallows, breaths coming out even faster than before, turning into puffs of white in the nippy late-October breeze. His lips shine with their shared saliva, and she knows hers do too. She flicks her tongue out to wipe a trickle going down her chin and licks her lips, chasing the elusive taste of the mint Dick was sucking on earlier.

If she were basing it on the warmth of Dick's hands on the exposed skin of her hips and the pulse she can see drumming just under the skintight collar of his Nightwing uniform, she might have easily confused this for another wet dream. But her dreams don't usually include the scurrying of a cat slinking away to leap onto another Gotham rooftop, nor the lazy squirrel-shaped cloud drifting across the half moon illuminating them. The sting of a few scrapes on her elbows and knees when she rolled away from a shotgun earlier that evening serve as the pinches she's tempted to give herself. She feels as crazy turned on as she does in those dreams though, fingertips tingling, thick heat spreading between her legs and making her shift her thighs back and forth in search of friction.

Dick laughs in disbelief. After four years— her whole hero career, really, and half of his— she knows that he's warring between the temptation driving his hips in little needy circles against hers and that profoundly annoying conscience he carries around in the voice of Batman, telling him what's right and wrong.

Artemis wills her pulse to slow before he notices. She's not taking it back.

"You want it or not?"

Dick blinks, the blue of his eyes hazy with confusion and arousal. She always flips up his whiteout lenses when they're making out. It's hard enough communicating with words – without getting to see his eyes, it'd be impossible for her. Though lately, she feels like she's getting the hang of reading his gestures. Dick is a surprisingly physical person, and the gentle squeeze of a hand or a fleeting touch on the nape of her neck often work better than words in reading him.

"'Mis, we said we weren't—"

"—going to have sex, I know. But this isn't sex."

He gives her a look and leans forward, nuzzling her neck and pressing a trail of kisses along her jaw like he can't help pleasuring her even as they converse. "Then what is it?" he murmurs.

"C'mon." She might be whining. A bit. "You know what I mean. Stop being a chicken."

His eyebrow rises like a cat arching its back. Calling him a chicken might work when they're in a silly mood, daring each other to eat increasingly gross combinations of food late at night, but in a matter like this? Ineffective, heavy on the _in_.

She sighs, rubbing the top of his shoulder with her thumb, digging a little bit into that spot that always gets sore ever since he dislocated his arm. "Sorry, I just got carried away."

He gives a little groan when she pushes in a little more, but instead of agreeing or disagreeing, what he says is, "I don't have a condom."

Her pulse is so thick she thinks she can swallow it. Another cloud waltzes past the little moonlight illuminating them, and in the sudden darkness, she takes the opportunity to kiss him as hard as she can. He laughs, little stutter breaths slipping out between their lips, and she arches when he licks the hollow of her collarbone. "We're both virgins," she says. "We can't have STDs."

He hesitates, breath puffing over her forehead. "But so you're okay with…"

"Yes! Do it." She's sure. She thinks…

He lets her go faster than a spring-loaded trap, muttering a quick 'sorry' when she stumbles backward. His belt is off, the knock of the metal against the ground ricocheting off the cement and iron surrounding them. His tights fall to the ground in a messy, elastic pool, and the contrast between the white of his legs and the dark of his shirt and boxer-briefs shocks her with its starkness.

The bulge is… impressive. Whether in size, she has no idea, but at least in presence. She thinks she lets out a little groan of her own, feels warmth slipping between her legs, wants to rub the inside of her thighs so _badly_. His legs are pale, the hair becoming coarser just as it reaches the hem of his boxer-briefs. The black is incredibly sexy, but it makes it hard for her to make out a dark spot near the top of his briefs. It takes her a moment to realize that it's a wet spot, and that he's not only hard but also leaking. For this. For _her_. The realization makes her dizzy, and she _needs_ to touch and see.

Dick is watching her, chest completely still, the muscles of his quads standing out as he braces himself on the wall. When her finger touches him, even through the cloth, he moans and thrusts a little. She jumps back, surprised at the heat and the slight dampness and how _hard_ it was, underneath the initial give of skin.

"Wow," she says stupidly, staring. "You're really, um… on a scale of one to Wally's head, how hard are you?"

"Eight." Dick says through gritted teeth. "C'mon, 'Mis… I need…"

She wants to stare longer, study the way she can see it—flex? It _moved_? She wants to cup him with her palm, rub him. But apparently Dick isn't in the mood to wait and let her adjust. Which she supposes is her fault – she'd sounded pretty ready when she asked, didn't she?

"Wow," she says again. "Is that… normal? Do you always get that hard?" She has no idea how it works. She's felt Dick hard before – making out on the couch, she's felt the unforgiving bulge driving into her, tantalizing even though layers of denim or cloth, fitting perfectly into the dips of her body. But she doesn't know anything about its extent.

"One time I thought of you undressing and got all the way up to a six."

Her skin flares up with heat and all that manages to squeeze through her throat is "Oh."

"And when we spar," he goes on, and she's pretty sure he's just doing it to tease her, even though the slight strain in his voice says he's probably teasing himself as well, "I'm pretty much at a pretty comfortable, or really, barely fortable, range of 3 or 4 depending on how much you touch me."

Artemis blinks, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of his briefs because she _needs_ to get closer "…I can't tell if that just means that you guys are easily pleased or, or…um," she trails off. She thinks it can be forgiven that she's a bit distracted.

He suddenly pulls her against him, and the heat of his body, legs bare, the swell of his erection pressing just above her navel, makes her lose her breath and her knees to wobble. Is that normal? He's still in his underwear and she's already feeling overwhelmed and lightheaded with want. She blames it on first time nerves. She _wants_ him, his scar-pocked skin, his dark hair, the firm slimness of his arms and legs and _ass_, the arch of his back and the softness of his earlobes. She wants all of it.

"Or maybe you're just really hot," he says, and he's back to suckling her neck, drawing little gasps from her. Even as a kid she doesn't think she sucked lollipops with the relish he does.

"Mmm, yeah," she says in between breaths, hands thick in his hair. "That's probably it."

He's pushing his erection against her stomach in sharp shallow thrusts and she wonders if that's satisfying. Is that enough, or does he need to actually come for it to be good?

"Although, 'Mis…" He presses one palm to her breast, kneading gently even though the uniform protects her. The other hand is pressed against her shoulder blade, keeping her from tumbling backwards. "You're telling me you never get all hot and bothered when I lick your nipples? Flick 'em and rub 'em and suck your neck?"

Now he's just dirty talking. And she won't lie and say that it doesn't make her rise on her tiptoes and try to fit her hips right on his erection, where it can push and shove at her clit and make her pant against his neck. And she loves this—her cheeks are getting that tingly numb feeling that surprised her so much the first time it happened, until she realized that it seemed to only happen in the middle of a particularly good making-out session, when Dick was being daring with his teeth and gentle with his words.

"Ah… Mmm… Okay, no, seriously, can we get back to the business of me sucking you off?"

That might have been a whimper that came out of Dick's mouth. Artemis can't be sure, her boobs are more or less muffling his voice. He _was_ trying to pull aside the sleeve of her uniform enough to wriggle his tongue in, but now he's gone sort of still against her. Except for his dick, which is hot and throbbing against her thigh—she call feel the hot imprint on her skin even through her pants.

She pulls away and kneels at his feet, rooftop grit grinding against the open scrapes on her knees, but she's way past caring. He leans back, one arm on the cement wall, the other raking through her hair, and she's not sure if he's trying to soother her nerves or _his_.

Her fingers are shaking slightly as slips them into the waistband of his boxer-briefs and begins pulling. Slowly. Dick _writhes_, panting through his teeth, and she swears her mouth is watering, watching pink, taut skin and dark curls rise slowly from the darkness.

She stares. It's a weird mix of arousal and a daze that would have her swaying if he weren't holding onto her head. Again, she's not sure if he's large or small or just average, but his dick curves slightly up. She wonders absently how it all fit inside his underwear in the first place, because right now it looms, foreign and immense, in front of her face. The skin is surprisingly delicate-looking. The crown is wide, and as she watches, milky liquid beads up at the top.

He shivers. Whether from the cold, which granted, is enough that this is going to have to be quick, or something else, she doesn't know.

"I don't wanna rush you… but I'm definitely at a nine or ten now. Just sayin'"

That's when Artemis realizes she has another problem.

"Um… I don't actually know how to do this."

Dick laughs at her scowl. "It's easy – _this_ goes… well, you know…"

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." She rolls her eyes. In theory, it sounds easy enough… but even approaching it is weird. She leans forward, straightening up to approach from above, thinking to accommodate its curve, and opens her mouth—

"Hey, hey! No teeth, no teeth! This is a _really sensitive_ body part!"

She puckers her lips a bit, awkward to do with her mouth open, and goes for it.

* * *

><p><strong>You're totally allowed to laugh, since I've never written p0rn before. I just feel bad I subjected Dick and Artemis to my experiment... I'm just gonna go hide under a rock now.<br>**


	7. On the Flip Side

**This was a prompt on tumblr for genderbent!Traught at Gotham Academy, on a mission, or doing whatever. So I did all three :)  
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**Enjoy!  
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><p><em><strong>On the Flip Side<br>**_

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><p>Apollo sighs at the familiar tug on his ponytail, but know better than to turn to his left, where the pull came from. Instead, he looks towards the right—<p>

"Ha, as if I'd be _that_ predictable."

Apollo scowls at the figure that twirls into his view from the left and just keeps trudging up the stairs to Gotham Academy's main courtyard. He notes absently that they aerated the grass field, little chunks of dirt lying next to the holes in the ground. There goes his lunch spot.

"You sure don't do your name justice. You're the god of sun, stop looking so gloomy!" Rachel chirps, tilting her head in front of him. Apollo swats at her bangs, spreading them all over her face the way he _knows_ drives her crazy, and hoists his bookbag up higher on his shoulder. He has a quiz second period, and Rachel will just chatter his ear off during first period about the latest hacking program she's made. Which, if he fails the quiz, might just come in handy…

On their way to the lockers, Rachel smirks and inspects her black and red nails. "So, guess what?"

Despite himself, Apollo says, "What?"

"I'm on my period."

Apollo winces and briefly considers getting new friends. "Why… why would you tell me that?"

Rachel grins and makes an airy motion with her hand. Were she in her jeans instead of uniform skirt, she'd likely flip into a handstand about now. "Oh, you know, 'cause it makes you my bitch."

Apollo already has all of his books, so he presses his forehead against the cool metal as if it will offer an escape. "I'm _nobody's_ bitch," he mutters.

"I think Bette would disagree," Rachel says, slamming her locker shut, and Apollo's pretty sure she did that on purpose just to watch him jump. "In fact—" Her face suddenly twists into a grimace.

"Rache'?"

"I'm fine," she mutters, curling over slightly and pressing her books tighter against her abdomen.

"Wha— are you sure? Do you need anything? Is it that bad?"

"Here," she says, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, brows still furrowed. "Take my books, go to class. I'll be there in a sec, just need to stop by the restroom first."

Apollo nods immediately and grabs the pile of books as Rachel disappears.

He heads to class, sits down, sets Rachel's books on the desk next to his, and when the clock begins inching dangerously close to the bell ringing and Rachel's _still_ not back, he decides to check on her. Because who knows, he's heard some scary things about girls passing out and stuff on their period.

He slips out of the classroom, heading towards his best guess as to the bathroom she went to, but when he turns the corner he finds her leaning against the wall, chatting with Bette and Babs. He stands there, momentarily relieved, until Rachel notices him.

She sends him a positively _evil_ smile, and Apollo's confused for a moment. Then it dawns on him, and the look on his face must be pretty obvious, because Rachel cackles.

Apollo flips her the bird casually and mouths, 'I'll get you back'.

o

o0o

o

"Would you stay on the fucking ground for half a second?" Apollo hisses, notching another arrow onto the string. Robin grits her teeth and rubs the back of her head where she'd bumped it when Apollo had yanked her back.

"This isn't exactly the safest of locations," she snaps, flipping her cape out of the way and plunking down amidst the rubble to access her wrist computer. "You better be covering my ass while I hack the security system."

Apollo ducks his head as gunfire shoots above their little outcrop of debris shielding them from the other guys. "I _always_ cover your ass."

"Well, maybe you don't need to," Robin retorts, and Apollo is always amazed at how she can talk and hack at the same time. Apollo can't even _text_ and talk at the same time. "In speed and agility, I'm leagues above you guys. They can't _catch_ me when I'm in the air."

Apollo grunts, as much out of concentration because he's aiming as because he disagrees. There's something terrifying and elating about seeing Robin in the air. Her body seems like it's made out of the air itself, bending all the forces and laws that Apollo feels all too restricted by. It's beautiful, but at the same time, the vulnerability of it terrifies him. In that split second where she's become one with the air, in that split second where time slows down and everyone's attention is on her, anything could happen. She's a target, and he knows all too well how easy it would be to aim and shoot a target like that.

The ground rumbles under them, and Apollo guesses that was one of Superboy's punches. The enemy fumbles for a bit, surprised, and Apollo uses their confusion to take two of them down. Only three left.

"Seriously, I can take care of myself," Robin continues, probably interpreting his silence, accurately in this case, as disagreement. Apollo wishes she'd just let it go, but he knows that Robin feels a constant need to prove her usefulness to the team, not just because she's a girl, but also because she's the youngest and has no powers. He understands that, he does, but precisely because of that he knows how proving yourself can lead to taking unnecessary risks.

"Look," he says, and he knows he should just shut up, but nobody's ever said he was diplomatic. "One hit, and you're a goner. That's all I'm saying."

"Give me a break, don't pretend like you're not human just like me."

Apollo grits his teeth and fires another arrow, one of his explosive ones. The blast of heat that blows over them, sweeping up cement dust and bits of metal, leaves them quiet for a moment until Apollo peeks out from under his arm and looks around. In the silence, there's only the sound of Robin's keyboard, and Apollo thinks maybe they got the last of them. Neither of them move from their shelter quite yet though.

"Yeah, but I'm bigger and stronger. I can take worse hits."

Robin hits a button on her keyboard with a flourish. "There, systems cleared. And pfft, big? You got nothing on Conner."

"Superboy's fucking Kryptionian!" Apollo says, and he can feel his cheeks heating up. "I'll have you know I'm in the 99th percentile for upper body strength for a human male my age, okay?"

Robin stares at him, and with the lenses, Apollo can't fully tell what's going on under there sometimes. He's not sure if Robin is pissed or—

She bursts out laughing, "99th percentile? What are you, the SATs? Is widdle Apollo jealous of Superboy's muscles?"

Yup, Apollo can feel his face burning up now. He slumps down to the ground, rubbing his shoulder where he twisted it earlier. "I hate you so much."

"No, you don't," Robin says, nudging his hand away from his shoulder. When she replaces it with her own fingers, Apollo exhales and lets himself relax. Nobody gives massages as good as Robin's.

"Yeah, I don't," Apollo murmurs, and they wait for the others to show up.

o

o0o

o

"You're gonna make yourself sick."

"Mmph… don't care."

Apollo shoves another hotdog in his mouth, cheese dripping down his chin. Rachel's pretty sure that he's not bothering to actually chew the whole thing before swallowing. She hops to sit on the counter and watches him grab as many of the chili cheese dogs as he can from the pile in the center of the counter and line them up in front of him.

A last minute call from the Flash had made Wally unable to come to dinner at Mt. Justice, and that meant leftovers. Lots of leftovers.

"It was just a dare. I was kidding."

Apollo eyes the towering pile of chili cheese dogs. One sticks out at an angle, and he picks it up before the cheese begins dripping down.

"I'm gonna eat all of these. Just watch, Girl Wonder."

Rachel raises an eyebrow and shrugs, pulling out her phone. She opens the camera app and presses record.

"I might as well get something out of this, I suppose. Say hi to Youtube."

Apollo opens his mouth at her, full of half-chewed meat, mushed bread and sticky, globby cheese. She makes a gagging sound, and Apollo makes a victory sign.

o

Twenty minutes later, she sighs. "Seriously, 'Pollo, stop."

"…No."

Apollo's leaning heavily against the counter, and she can see the beginnings of a food baby in his stomach. Probably ruining those perfect abs of his. He's chewing much slower now, and every time he swallows she wants to hold back a grimace of her own because he looks like he's swallowing glass.

"You'll legit explode if you eat the rest. It's possible. I read it in a book."

"If by book you mean internet meme," he says, reaching out for another one, but he's looking less and less enthused about the prospect and more and more green around the edges. His upper lip is white, and there's the faint hint of perspiration around his hairline.

He takes the next bite and his body suddenly lurches. He claps his hand over his mouth and stands there, eyes closed, body making little jolting motions every few seconds.

Rachel twists her mouth in sympathy. "Alright, maybe we should stop now."

Apollo just swallows thickly and grabs the rest of the hotdog. "No."

He manages three bites before he presses both hands against his mouth again.

"How about now?"

"Nope."

"This video is going to record your total fail. Still wanna keep going?"

"…Shut. Up."

Rachel rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Really. If your ego thought it was a good idea to skydive off a cliff without a parachute, you'd probably do it."

"Probably."

Rachel has to admit she's impressed. Impressed like when Wally insists he can get a certain girl's number, and Rachel just watches his make an ass out of himself. One girl after the other after the other. Yeah, that kind of impressed.

She sees it coming even before Apollo himself does, and she's off the counter by the time he suddenly stumbles over to the trashcan and starts projectile vomiting.

She sighs, pushes his bangs out of the way and rubs his back. "I got you, don't worry."

There's no chance for him to respond between the heaving and wet, heavy splatters, so she adds, "I'm still putting that on Youtube though."

* * *

><p><strong>That was so much fun to write - it was really interesting to think of a- situations where it'd even be relevant that they're genderbent, and b- trying to figure how precisely their personalities would be affected by it. Thanks to Chip for the prompt, and I hope you guys enjoyed it!<br>**


	8. Yeah the longing never goes away

**Mmmm back with some Traught.  
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**Enjoy!  
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><p><em><strong>What you do do me - Yeah the longing never goes away<br>**_

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><p>The rusty nail lodged in his shoulder is finally out, gleaming with antiseptic, but there's still too much blood seeping out, enough to distract her from the way his unfocused pupils are fixed on her. Her head is swimming with exhaustion and she tries to coax the last tendrils of adrenaline through her veins with the deliberate jiggling of her twisted ankle, so she can understand the way his body sags and sways back and forth like an uprooted sapling, head wobbling like the seed-heavy fruits on top. Too long of a mission, but at least theirs were the only injuries.<p>

The bandages don't stay white for long, a red blooming into existence as soon as the gauze touches his wound. He doesn't flinch, but then again, he rarely does, so she still skims with gentle fingers, wincing when her fingernail catches on the edge of the gauze and drags it across the tender skin.

"Sorry."

Under the flipped-up lenses, his pupils shrink for a second, coming to attention, then resume their blown-out state. "It doesn't hurt."

Oddly enough, despite the fact that he keeps the most secrets, he's not the type to lie. He dances around the truth, plays word games and revels in secrets, but at the end of the day he's never lied to her. Or maybe she trusts him so completely that she's never realized he's lied. But, whether it's adrenaline masking his pain or not, she needs to finish before what little energy they have left runs out completely. Daily training with Olliver, two tests, a surprise confrontation with her father, and none of them have recovered from the 48-hour mission from last weekend. Knowing Robin, as well as Batman, he probably hasn't had it any easier either.

She sees it coming even before the sharp intake of breath when he suddenly dips forward. Her hands twitch reflexively towards his shoulder before she catches herself and slips them instead to his sides, feeling his ribs expand and collapse in tandem with the panting breaths on her collarbone as she holds him up. His limp weight makes her feel like she's holding a marionette, utterly in her power. It's an eerie feeling, mostly because she's not sure she should be enjoying it.

"'Doesn't hurt' my ass," she mutters to fill in the fluorescent silence of the medbay, chin brushing against the locks of hair that stick up from the top of his head. Too many metal instruments gleaming around her, and she's glad she has no need for anything more than tweezers and scissors. Anything else and Red Tornado would have to take care of it. It's a silly notion, but she's glad she could be the one to patch him up tonight. The debt she owes Robin for his unwavering trust in her is one he'll never know and she'll never be able to pay back, but she tries.

"S'not that." He groans as he places a hand on her arm, presumably to steady himself. "Tired. Dizzy."

She rubs his sides a little in reassurance, feeling the edge of the Kevlar plate on his chest and the heat of his forehead on her shoulder. "I'm almost done, I promise."

She thinks the twitch of his fingers on her arm signals that he's going to push away and hold himself up, but instead he lifts his head, eyes dazed. She thinks it's a matter of fatigued clumsiness at first—the way his nose bumps into her chin as he turns his head—but that's not sufficient explanation for the way his mouth rises further, then pulls away at the last second, leaving her with the ghost sensation of chapped lips catching on the roughness of hers.

She can't say she's never thought about it – it's hard to ignore the proximity of their faces, and his warm, heavy breath dampening her cheek. It's hard not to have those thoughts about _anyone_ on the team, particularly in the post-mission hazes and highs. But it's the sort of fleeting, hormone-driven thought that's hacked down immediately, banished without a second chance, because it's Robin, it's her best friend, her _boyfriend's_ best friend—

She gapes. "Robin—"

"I'm sorry, won't happen again, m'sorry." He's breathless, his hand clutching her arm still, but this time with something closer to panic. If she'd thought his pupils were blown before, now she's having trouble even finding the blue of his iris. Something about the immediacy of his panic, the strain in his voice, gives her pause. She'd been ready to laugh it off, teasingly chastise him but now there's ice creeping through her veins.

"That…" Her brain has been replaced by clumpy, drying clay, nerve endings stuck in the mire. "You don't, I mean— do you?"

He's never been one to lie. She reads his answer in the way his eyelashes lower in shame.

"Can we pretend this never happened?"

_No_, she wants to say. Because she has so many questions. How long has he had these feelings? How long has her friend been in love and never said anything? Did he ever tell anyone, or did he stand next to her, mission after mission, holding it in? Was it hard, watching her with Wally? Artemis has never been one to flatter herself— her self-confidence is a crumpled mess grasping at straws on most days—but the idea that someone like Robin could ever see something in someone like _her_ is heady and gratifying.

But she knows what it's like to have feelings too raw for exposure.

"It's the blood loss," she says finally, her fingers professional and medically efficient as she resumes fastening the bandage. She's suddenly afraid of lingering too long, giving the wrong impression, even though she knows he knows the boundaries. His hands tremble. She looks away.

"Just blood loss," he repeats, eyes screwed shut as he sucks in a breath. The way he bites his lip is so painful she has to duck her head.

The memory is wrapped in a ball of foil and tossed in the trash. Dick never acknowledges it, never seems to mind spending time with her and Wally, dates a few girls here and there, and all is well.

0o0o0

Artemis thinks he may have been hit with something. The way Dick stalks toward her, steps unsteady as if the ground under him is instead the tilting deck of a boat, is immediate cause for concern, but not for herself, of course. Until he keeps stepping closer and closer, and something about the way his eyes are narrow, the whiteout lenses making them menacing, makes her back up into the wall.

Still, it's Dick.

"Are you… okay?" She's careful, eyes sweeping over him for any clues as to his behavior. If he's being controlled by something, not so rare in their profession, she can neutralize him, but she doesn't want to preemptively hurt him either.

The blue on his chest looms larger and larger, while the cold grit of rock digs into her back and spreads. But all he does is put his hands on either side of her head and lean in. He doesn't touch her, just tilts his face, bangs falling to the side, nose hovering just under hear ear. She can hear the deep breath he takes, but all she feels is the warm air mingling in the few centimeters between their bodies. His shoulder and the side of his neck are exposed to her, flexible dark armor, not black, because black wouldn't fit him, but a dark, dark gray, ending abruptly and revealing pale, pale corded muscle running into his jaw.

"Nightwing…" She doesn't know why her voice trembles. All she can think of is _still?_ So many years, and yet, still? But more importantly, how did she never realize? What kind of a friend is she?

He exhales, and the gust of warmth against her jawline fizzles down her back.

"I know." His voice is hoarse. "Wally, I'm sorry…"

Of all her senses, it's smell that gives it away. There's a tangy, orangey scent, and underneath, chloroform and the waft of sharper chemicals. She recognizes it and relaxes.

"You were in the lab too long," she scolds gently and finally allows the distance between them to close. She slides her fingers across the planes of his shoulder blades and tries to deny there's any longing in the movement. There's a wiggling thought in the back of her mind, one that's been there for years and years but she's never fed, hoping it would starve from lack of attention.

He nods, and when his chin bumps into her shoulder he breathes in again and lays his forehead in the crook of her neck. She rubs his back, feels the arch of his spine, curved with anxiety and stiff from too many hours awake at a bench when he's meant to twist and leap in the sky. She presses harder with her fingers as if that will erase all the tension.

"I'm sorry," he says again, tiredly, like he barely has the strength to even get that out.

"Don't," she says automatically, and then swallows and says quietly. "Don't be sorry."

She leans her head forward as well, allows herself to press against him. She pries into the back of her mind, looks at that wriggling, twisting little notion, and watches it grow, watches it come to the forefront of her mind in a wave of emotion she can't put a word to, but it tightens her throat and makes it hard to breathe all the same.

"Sometimes… I wish it were you."

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><p><strong>Just an excuse to write out-of-it!Dick, mwahaha.<br>**


	9. Clothes Swap

**Prompt was... awkward moment during emergency meeting because of accidental clothes-swap ;)  
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**Enjoy!  
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><p><strong><em>Clothes Swap<br>_**

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><p>"Oh my <em>God<em>, really?" Artemis slams her head back against the wall, and Dick fastens his mouth immediately on the exposed curve of her throat, shifting the rhythm of his hips against hers to match the siren now blaring through the hangar. She moans, half-heartedly pushing at his shoulder, "C'mon, Dick, stop, we need to –oh _fuck_— see what happened."

"Dammit," he pants against her jaw, suckling her shoulder and driving in_ hard_ just once more, before sighing and pulling out reluctantly. "I was so close."

"I wasn't," she quips, sticking a hand out to feel for the rocky outcrop on which she'd hung her bra. "Better work on your technique."

He frowns until she laughs and slides her thigh between his legs, making his hips convulse and he groans and buries his head against her neck. From behind their crevice hideout – not secret to anyone in the cave, nor are they the first to use it for these exact purposes—they hear voices as people begin filing to the report room.

"Hurry," Artemis yells, bending down to grab the nearest items of clothing in the dark. He can barely hear over the wail of the siren. He drops to the balls of his feet and runs his hands on the ground until he finds the soft cloth of her of sweats. She wastes no time in sticking one leg after the other when he hands it to her, grabbing his shoulder for support. The next thing he finds, luckily, is his own set of boxers, recognizable by the thick waistband. He really would not want his hard-on rubbing against his jeans. "Underwear?" he calls.

"I'll stick it in my pocket," Artemis grunts, the silhouette of her arms harsh against the little light from behind as she puts on her bra. He normally takes pleasure in helping her fasten it, but right now there's no time. There's a few grunts and the harsh slide of cloth of skin, and he finds what he thinks is his shirt, fumbling until he finds the hole for the head. He flips his jeans once to untangle the legs and then begins to tug them on.

"Dammit, I can't find my shirt," Artemis growls and almost makes him fall over in the search. He yelps, grabbing onto the wall to finish hopping into his pants.

"I'll help," he says, ignoring the zipper to feel around the ground. "Ah, here's your underwear." He holds it up with one finger.

"They're not fuckin' silk, you don't have the hold them like they're delicate," Artemis says, snatching them out of his hands and balling them up into her pocket. Dick snorts back laughter. "Dammit, where the fuck is my shirt, I can't—oh, I'm good now." He hears a zip, though he doesn't remember Artemis's shirt having a zipper…

"Good." Even better is that they were already barefoot so they don't have to worry about shoes. He can't find his hoodie, but he'll come back for it later. "You ready?"

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon," she grabs his hand as he pulls out his sunglasses from his jeans. Years of practice makes it easy to put them on with one hand, while running, with Artemis's hair blowing in his face. It's only when Artemis finally pulls ahead enough that her hair isn't obscuring everything that he notices.

"Wha—'Mis, you're wearing my hoodie!"

"Cause I couldn't find my fucking shirt!" she yells over her shoulder, almost tripping over her sweats because she obviously didn't bother tying the string tight, and damn, there's a delicious slice of skin there.

The siren is off now, meaning that everyone is probably already in the damn briefing room, and Conner for sure heard her yell that out. Dick hopes their messy hair will be attributed to the run and not to other activities. The only thing he can do now is try to stand appropriately distant from Artemis as they walk in.

"Guys!" Gar bounds up to them as they slow to a stop. "What took you?"

"I was on the other side of the cave and she waited for me," Dick says smoothly. Artemis simply shrugs and makes her way over nonchalantly to where M'gann is. "What's the emergency?"

Mal eyes him weirdly. "The Justice League wanted our help…" He trails off.

Then Dick realizes _everyone_ is eyeing him weirdly.

He swallows. "What?"

Gar wrinkles his nose. "Why are you wearing a girl's shirt?"

"Wha—" He looks down. "Oh." He grabbed Artemis's shirt. Artemis's tight-fitting, low V-neck, lilac shirt with a vintage print of a woman with large sunglasses. Rather unmistakably female.

He makes the mistake of looking at Artemis, and as if on cue, everyone turns to stare at her. Artemis stiffens, the very tips of her ear beginning to turn pink.

"And that's… _your_ hoodie she's wearing, isn't it?" Gar looks back and forth confusedly between them. "Why were you playing dress up with each other's clothes?"

Babs chooses that moment to add, "And your fly's undone."

M'gann is giggling and Conner has a grin on his face, even though this never happened to them because M'gann could shapeshift her friggin' clothing. Mal has the highest eyebrow raised on earth, and Babs has a smirk that could rival Catwoman's. The rest of the younger team look baffled, and Dick can feel his neck getting hot as he sputters.

Jaime suddenly yells, "Don't give me those mental pictures, man!" and as usual, it's not clear who he's talking to.

* * *

><p><strong>I love you, Jaime.<br>**


	10. Dirty Laundry

**NOTICE ABOUT THE NOW-DELETED CHAPTER 11: I decided to remove it, since it was a venture into actual super explicit smut, but upon feedback and my own instincts, decided it didn't really fit with the rest of the ficlets here. Since FFN doesn't do M or NC17 fics, if you wish to read it, it's found at (remove spaces): an-ime-goil. tumblr (dot com slash) post/43552315815/f-i-c-on-your-back-but-not-how-youre-thinking  
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**Genderbent!Traught. I tend to think that one of the things that would be affected if Artemis were a boy is that her relationship with Sportsmaster would likely involve more physical blows.  
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**Sorry for the hiatus - grad school apps and finding a job, boo.  
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**Enjoy!  
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><p><strong><em>Dirty Laundry<br>_**

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><p>Apollo's wearing a hoodie with the hood as far over his face as possible. Rachel didn't even know he <em>owned<em> hoodies, given 'Pollo's propensity for white tees under faux-leather jackets. It's nothing more than an inane observation on Rachel's part as she watches Apollo crossing the far end of the hangar, until Wally drops the wrench on his foot. Apollo turns towards the loud cry, and that one second is enough to disclose the true purpose of the hoodie.

"Dude, what happened to Apollo's face?"

Wally glances up, still rubbing his foot with a wince on his face. "No idea. He got pissy when we asked, so M'gann made the tactical decision to retreat after giving him an ice pack."

"Rough patrol...?" Rachel wonders, and Wally hums something non-committal from inside Sphere's interior.

As soon as Rachel's sure her help with Sphere's maintenance isn't required anymore, she heads into the den. The floppy tip of a hood peeks over the top of the couch, and Rachel crouches, sliding forward unseen to pop up behind the couch with a casual 'boo!'.

Apollo's whole body twitches in surprise, iPod slipping from his hands to fall on his stomach. Rachel's lips twist into her usual smirk until Apollo looks up, popping out an earbud with a scowl, and then her mouth goes dry. She swallows back the wince just barely, keeping the smirk firmly in place though it doesn't stop her from clamping down her jaw as she surveys the mottled bruising lining the entire left side of his face.

"Pretty nasty bruise you got there," she says casually, eyes flickering around his face to tally up the damage. Two areas of concentrated bruising, one at the side of the eyebrow ridge, a right hook most likely, another just below the cheekbone— a powerful uppercut or a fall against a hard object. Some swelling under the eye, caused by pooling of the blood from the eyebrow ridge hit. Green discoloration already present, which dates the injury to 16-20 hours at least. "What, did a B-grade thug get the drop on you?"

Had that been what really happened, Apollo would have probably flushed and made himself a wide open target for teasing. Instead, Apollo's lips curl apart into a nasty snarl, eyes narrowing, and that's enough to alert her to the fact that maybe it's not work-related. "Fuck you."

Rachel knows better than to take Apollo's verbal lashing personally, but the bared teeth and mottled dark half of his face remind her of Two-Face and the resulting flinch is completely involuntary. She still has nightmares about him sometimes.

Apollo's face immediately twists into guilt as he scrubs a hand over his uninjured eye. "...Sorry."

"It's fine." She drops her eyes away from his face and drapes herself over the top of the couch, her knee touching the top of his thigh and her fingers almost brushing his shoulder. She softens her voice. "You don't have to tell me, I was just worried." She should probably feel a bit of remorse at how easy it is for her to use the guilt card on Apollo, but it's not her fault that it's the easiest way to get him to open up sometimes.

Apollo's quiet for a long while, thumb circling his iPod's wheel aimlessly. Then he turns on his side, facing away from her, shifting until he's comfortable. The silence hangs long enough to make her think that maybe he really _didn't_ fall for it this time. Rachel wiggles her fingers in the wake of cold air where his shoulder used to be and traces the shape of his broad back in the air. He looks smaller, somehow, with the harmless cloth of the hoodie hiding his golden hair, reminiscent of abused kids in depressing movies she studiously avoids.

"Dad decided to make a little visit last night," Apollo finally says, sounding resigned. "Came home and found him in the kitchen, arguing with my mom. And I mean… he's never hit her. They respect each other, kind of. But I haven't really seen them together since I was nine, you know? So I have no clue if they ever even loved each other, or if they were forced to get married by the L – lame rules they lived by." He sighs, shoulders hunching up a bit, and Rachel's fingers ache with the urge to reach out and rub his back. "I got pissed at him, 'cause he was upsetting Mom, talking shit about my sister and being an asshole. Then he tries his little mind games on me, and I guess I got cocky."

His voice lowers, as if talking more to himself, and Rachel imagines a faraway look to his eyes, the same one he always gets when there's a mission involving Cheshire. "I'd forgotten how strong he was. Thought I'd gotten good enough over these past few months to get back at him."

"You will be," Rachel says. He will, she knows it.

"Not soon enough." He curls in on himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach where Rachel sincerely hopes there isn't another patch of bruises. Rachel presses her face against the cushions, feeling ashamed by the fact that she can imagine the scene in her head with far more clarity that Apollo meant for her to know. She knows what Apollo's kitchen looks like, can hear both Sportsmaster and the former Tigress's voices, has a few ideas about the kind of things they might have said about Cheshire, and it's not hard to assume that Sportsmaster would rather Apollo came back to the League than play hero with the enemy.

The silence lingers like cold morning fog, punctuated by the ending of the distorted song coming from the discarded earbuds. Rachel fidgets, as much out of habit and discomfort as to remind Apollo that she's here, to keep him from withdrawing. When that doesn't draw any reaction out of him, she prompts. "Then what?"

Apollo grumbles. "Nothing. I got him away from Mom. He talked shit about my life choices as usual. Fucker got a few punches in without me being able to even _see_ them." There's the soft sound of a cushion being hit. "_Dammit_."

Rachel doesn't know what to say. Apollo's obviously okay - bruised and upset, but alright. 'Sorry' doesn't do much. And, she doesn't want to be dishonest and ask twenty questions about his family situation as if she doesn't know perfectly well that his dad is Sporstmaster, but she doesn't want to come across as unconcerned either. She's not sure what to say that doesn't tip her hand in either direction.

"But your mom's okay?" she finally asks.

"Yeah. She's just…" Another sigh, and Rachel didn't think such a simple sound could be so painful. "She hasn't had it easy, you know? And when she first came back from – the hospital, she wanted my dad to stay with us. Keep what was left of our family together. And the jerk refused. He chose work over us! And I fucking hate it, and she pretends she's okay with it, but then he shows up and throws it all back in her face as if everything wasn't _his_ fault in the first place, since he's the one that—" Apollo stops abruptly, as if realizing just how loud his voice had gotten. It's rare to hear him divulge so much information, but then again, maybe Rachel isn't the only one who feels like they have gotten closer lately. His arm rises towards his face, but Rachel can't see anything from this angle. When he speaks again, his voice is back to his resigned croak. "Didn't mean to air out dirty laundry. He just makes me so _mad_."

"I don't mind… It's good to let it out sometime." She can't deny she's also glad that he let himself vent to _her_.

Apollo huffs out a laugh. "Don't get used to it. I'd rather not talk about it any more, if that's okay."

One of those obnoxiously poppy radio hits starts squeaking out of the headphones, and Apollo shoves his thumb at the fast forward button as if afraid Rachel will make fun of him. Which at another moment she might have, but she's not really paying attention. There are things that surveillance cameras and archive files can't express, and Rachel suddenly realizes that even her factual knowledge is skewed. The picture crystallizes into a different structure: Apollo's dad in the kitchen, taunting his mom about his sister following the exact path his mom had feared, ridiculing Apollo for wanting to help people instead of working for the League, disrupting whatever peace Apollo and his mom might have had since her release from prison. It sounds messy and painful.

Apollo's head is turned her way, dark eyes glancing cautiously at her from under his hood as if worried that maybe he did go to far.

"Like I'd think of you any differently just because your family has issues like every other family," Rachel mumbles and shoves his head back around again and pulls his hoodie off instead.

"What–"

"Relax, 'Pollo, just wanna play with your hair."

Apollo mumbles something that sounds like well-deserved suspicion, but Rachel just wiggles her fingers underneath Apollo's ponytail and tugs it off. As soon as her fingers hit his scalp and begin combing through his hair, Apollo sighs, but this time, it's a light, pleasant sound. She decides that her position is rather too lonesome for her liking and rolls over to fall into the wedge between Apollo and the couch, wiggling around until she's comfortable.

"Uh, Robin. Are you, uh, sure you want to do that?"

Rachel sweetens her voice, twirling a single finger along a random path on Apollo's scalp. "Is that your way of saying 'please don't give me an awkward boner'?"

Apollo makes a strangled sound, pretty much what Rachel imagines a dying cat to sound like, and buries his face in a cushion.

"You're completely insensitive, you know that?"

"I'd rather call it charmingly blunt, but tomatoes, tomahtohs." She makes herself comfortable against his back, though he's rather too large to spoon properly, but at least he's warm and his hair smells good, like peaches and a trace of Gotham grime. She resumes playing with his hair, glad that from this angle she can't see any of the purple-green stains under his skin. "Besides, you know cuddling is my guilty pleasure."

Apollo sighs in mock-suffering, chest expanding against Rachel's and making her feel pleasantly cocooned. Still, everyone knows Rachel's a sucker for touches and hugs, albeit a bit more playfully-displayed than M'gann, so he doesn't protest the proximity any more. This time, the silence is comfortable, an ellipsis instead of a stark period.

Without thinking, she throws an arm over his side, about to squeeze him a little closer. Then she stops, sliding her fingers under the hoodie's pocket and pressing lightly against his stomach and the abs she can feel under the cloth.

"Did he hit you there too?"

Apollo nestles his arm over hers, hand slipping into the pocket to lie on top of hers. "It doesn't hurt."

Not that it makes her feel better, really. She presses her cheek against the nape of his neck and continues playing with his hair, scratching the crown of his head idly as she wonders what good it does to know so much about him if in the end she can't help him. Then again, maybe this is good enough for now.

Some time later, Rachel's foot is begging to rotate her ankle or jiggle her leg, but she figures enduring the itch to move a little longer is worth it when Apollo's breathing finally evens out and his face and shoulders slacken.

In the end, the warmth and rhythm of his back expanding and contracting against her chest lulls her to sleep as well, fingers still tangled in his hair.

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><p><strong>Any feedback is appreciated, since Apollo and Rachel are... different but similar to Artemis and Dick.<br>**


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